


Who Fell First?

by MarzgaPerez



Series: A Milkovich Always Gets His Man [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: But then you're on your own, Domestic Fluff, Flirting, Gallavich Week, Gallavich giving each other the business, Lawyer Ian (in the comfort of his own home), M/M, This will take you to the brink of smut, excessive use of the word "babe", post s10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Post S10. It's been a few months since the wedding, and Ian is feeling nostalgic. He begins to wonder - who started crushing on whom first?Is it whom or who? I’m going with “whom.”Fluff. And very much tied to my head canon from Part 1 but can be read alone.Basically, I'm obsessed with Mickey throwing that dip at Ian in S1. So hot.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: A Milkovich Always Gets His Man [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845640
Comments: 15
Kudos: 220
Collections: Gallavich Week 2020





	Who Fell First?

One of Ian’s favorite things about being married is having a morning ritual that he can share with someone. A special someone. And Mickey understands that Ian thrives on having a routine; their lives have been chaotic enough. Not that anything about their marriage is boring or predictable, but it's calm and safe—for both of them. Mickey lets Ian do little things for him, married things. Tender things for which a certain Southside thug would have punched his lights out back in the day—or cut his tongue out.

Every morning, even the mornings when they both have to go to work, Ian gets up before Mickey, carefully untangles their limbs, throws on a pair of boxers, and heads downstairs to fix them both some coffee. Ian inhales his first dose of morning caffeine, then goes back upstairs to bring Mickey his coffee in bed.

“Coffee time, babe,” he whispers before planting a light kiss on his husband’s cheek. Ian has acquired the habit of calling Mickey “babe” after spending time over at Lip and Tami’s place. They use the term in this affectionate but kind of passive-aggressive way. Like, _babe, it’s your turn to change Fred_ , or _babe, guess who forgot to buy milk_? Secretly, Ian thinks the nickname is kind of cute, and though he uses it to be ironic, he likes the fact that Mickey doesn’t ever protest. In fact, sometimes, he uses it, too. 

The other thing Ian thinks is downright adorable is the way Mickey rolls over in bed and twitches his nose towards the scent of his coffee, like a bunny rabbit peeking out from its burrow. This is not an observation Ian makes out loud, of course. He knows that some things are better left unsaid.

“C’mere,” is always Mickey’s reply, and his next move is usually pulling Ian back into the bed for a quickie before they have to face the day. 

Ian has other plans for this particular morning. “Drink your coffee,” he says, moving just out of Mickey’s reach. “Gonna make breakfast for you. It’s our anniversary.”

Mickey slowly opens his eyes and stops to comment, mid-yawn. “Wait. Anniversary? Bullshit. We ain’t been married for a year.”

“Not our _wedding_ anniversary. The anniversary since we first...well…”

“Banged? Kissed? Stole shit? Got high?”

Ian chuckles as he pulls on a pair of socks. “The first one, Mick. Remember? You lured me into your room ‘cause you wanted a piece of this.” The redhead stays bent over with his ass in the air until he's made sure Mickey's had an eyeful.

“Ha!” The brunet laughs as he grabs a pair of boxers off the floor. “More like, _you_ wanted me. Like real bad. I mean, I _had_ to let you fuck me. Or you woulda cried.”

“Asshole. That’s not even close to what happened,” Ian replies, buttoning his shirt and shrugging his shoulders at such a completely inaccurate description of how they’d ended up together that first time. 

“Face it,” Mickey says coyly, inching closer and closer to Ian, stopping right in front of him and blocking his path towards the door. “ _You_ got this whole thing started. And believe me, I’m happy as fuck you did, but let’s call a spade a spade.”

Ian stands as still as a statue, refusing to budge on his stance, even with Mickey snaking his hands around his waist and grinding up against him. “Got your memory working again, Gallagher?”

“It never stopped, Milkovich.” Ian grips Mickey’s shoulders firmly and maneuvers him out of the way. “See you downstairs. And you’re wrong about who came onto whom. _Babe_ ,” he adds and shoots out of the room before Mickey has a chance to argue his side again. 

But their minor feud continues over breakfast and begins to involve innocent bystanders—assorted Gallaghers who’d shown up to eat banana pancakes, not to be cross-examined.

Mickey isn't about to let this thing go. “Lip, man. You can vouch for me. Wasn’t this guy completely ga-ga over me? Back in the day?” Mickey stuffs another bite of syrupy pancakes into his mouth while Ian pretends to stew quietly over his third cup of coffee. He's actually enjoying this whole thing, because he knows exactly how it's going to end.

Lip looks up from his plate, eyes darting back and forth between the two men. “You guys having an argument?”

“Let’s call it ‘a healthy debate’,” Ian interjects to set his brother’s mind at ease. 

“I don’t want to get in the middle of your shit,” Lip declares, hands raised in full surrender mode. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he decides to betray his brother completely and adds, “But yeah, Ian was a fuckin’ goner for you. No doubt about it.”

The rest of his siblings laugh knowingly, and Carl has the audacity to bring up how traumatized he's been over catching them repeatedly—naked—in their shared room.

Liam adds, “I learned at an early age not to linger too long when Ian’s got his ‘hungry eyes’.” 

“Good one, dude!” Mickey gives Liam a high five.

Ian, unphased, gets up with his empty plate and pinches his husband’s cheek on his way over to the sink. “Yeah. I was into Mickey. Still am. But so what? Doesn’t mean I came onto him first. _He_ was the one who pursued me!”

“ _Baaaabe_ ,” Mickey coos in an obvious attempt to annoy his husband. “Don’t kid yourself. You came over to _my_ house, and you tackled _me_ onto the bed. And that’s all I’ll say in front of…”

Franny smiles at the sudden attention from her uncle Mickey. But she is clearly Team Ian. “You have Uncle Ian’s name over your heart.”

Mickey laughs awkwardly, and that is the end of their great debate for the time being. Everyone grows quiet, believing that Mickey’s “Ian” tattoo isn’t exactly a source of joy. But little do they know that Mickey wears that damn thing like a badge, a true demonstration of the extremes he'll go to for Ian. What does it matter which of them pursued the other one first anyway?

Ian is willing to let the topic drop until he gets a text from Mickey around lunch time. 

**_Still mad you got found out?_ **

Ian has honestly forgotten about their conversation from earlier, distracted by a pretty intense morning at work. **_Found out about what?_** he asks.

**_How you stalked me. Wanted to bone me._ **

_Game on, Milkovich_ , Ian decides, but he does not let his final move be known. Their whole “courtship” has been on his mind during the few weeks leading up to this particular anniversary. Because sometimes, it feels like he and Mickey are so concerned about not dwelling on the shit from their past, that they overlook moments where they'd just really enjoyed being together. 

Sure, that particular first encounter was more about fucking than anything else, but the more Ian has thought about it, the more he's started to suspect that he’d somehow caught Mickey’s eye much earlier, probably with the whole Mandy situation, more so than it being the other way around.

 _ **Whatever, Mick** , _ he texts back. **_I do plan to bone you tonight. Just like our first time_** , then adds: _**after movie night, of course**. _

Yeah, movie night is a thing again at the Gallagher house. Once a week, a pre-assigned pair picks out a movie and buys snacks to share. It's the “Millaghers” turn this evening, as Carl has informed everyone via their group chat. Mickey is on a major Al Pacino kick, and they’ve settled on _Scent of a Woman._ It'll likely put Franny right to sleep.

 ** _Mmmm. Can’t wait. And don’t forget to pick up snacks for tonight_** , Mickey reminds him.

 ** _I got you, babe_** , Ian replies before tucking his phone back in his pocket and turning his attention back to some paperwork he needs to finish up.

* * *

Ian arrives home right around dinner time and is surprised to find the living room empty. “Hello? Anybody here? I’ve got food!” he calls out. 

Mickey emerges from the kitchen with a “let’s get this movie night shit over with so we can bang” kind of look. “Hey, _stalker_. Nice to see you again.” He comes over to Ian, takes the pizza boxes from his hands, and sets them down on the table in the corner of the room. 

“Where is everyone?” Ian asks, ignoring the new moniker Mickey has bestowed upon him and setting the grocery bag on the coffee table.

“Holding their dicks? I don’t know. Did you get the beer?”

“Yeah,” says Ian, backing his husband against the doorframe by the kitchen and kissing him like they’d been apart for days, instead of hours. Once Ian is satisfied that he’s gotten Mickey nice and keyed up, he breaks away from their kiss. “And I picked up your favorite snack from the place formerly known as the _Kash and Grab_.”

“Favorite snack? Do you mean _you_?”

“Not exactly, _babe_.” Ian leads Mickey over to the couch and pulls out two cans of sour cream and onion Pringles from the bag. “Haven’t had these in a while, have you?”

“No. But _babe_ , did you forget that the barbecue ones are my favorite?”

“They were out,” explains Ian, and he smiles as Mickey snatches one of the cans, pops the plastic top off, and digs in.

“Oh. And I got you some dip. French Onion. I know how much you like the combination.” Ian holds out the plastic tub of dip for Mickey. 

“Did you hit your head on the way home? Think I’m gonna eat onion flavored chips with onion flavored dip? Why don’t I just put the whole goddamn onion in my mouth?”

A wicked grin forms over Ian's lips. “Gosh, Mick. I could have sworn that you liked this kind of dip.” Ian moves around to the other side of the couch and plops down, arms behind his head, feet resting on the coffee table. A few seconds later, Mickey joins him. 

“I don’t know, Gallagher. Maybe if I was desperate,” says Mickey, crunching on a stack of five Pringles. Ian is more of a three chip kind of Pringles stacker. 

“Desperate, you say? Hmmm. That sounds about right,” teases Ian, pretty sure he's going to have to explain to Mickey the trap he's just walked into. 

“Oh, for fucks' sake. What’s this about?” Mickey groans, brow furrowed as he tries to piece together what's just happened. 

“Well, Mick. It’s a shame we don’t have an audience, a jury, if you will, so I could submit to the court, Evidence A, we’ll call it. Picture this. Southside thug walks into a convenience store. He swipes various items from said store, blows off simpering store manager, and then returns seconds later for...dip.”

“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” Mickey rolls his eyes and settles back into the couch, clicking on the television to search for the movie. 

Ian stands up and begins pacing in front of him. “This dip he was so eager to retrieve back then is the very same dip that he now states would be disgusting with his chips. And so I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury—”

“Who the fuck are you talking to?”

“Why would said thug be so intent on returning to that store? Not for the dip, no. But for a chance to see the boy he was _desperate_ to see. In his own words, by the way... _desperate_.”

Mickey's shifting in his seat, trying to get a view of the television in between Ian’s movements back and forth.

“I’ll go ahead and make my final statement—”

“Good, ‘cause this is going nowhere.”

“This man,” Ian gestures towards Mickey as he drives his point home. “This man was clearly the first of this pairing to pursue his love interest…”

“Love interest,” scoffs Mickey. “You and your rom-com shit.”

“Mr. Milkovich saw an opportunity to dangle his dirty, unkempt body in front of an innocent and unsuspecting Ian Gallagher— _by the way, I want you wearing a green scarf tonight_ —and that, members of the jury, is all the evidence you need, short of a confession, to convict this man of first degree crushing...in the first. I rest my case.” Ian takes a bow and waits for some kind of reaction from Mickey. 

“You’re an idiot,” is all he gets. Ian flops down on the couch, mildly dejected, but it's all in good fun, he figures. 

“Here’s an idea,” says Mickey, and Ian likes the sound of where this might be going. “What if we blow off this whole movie night thing and get to fuckin’?” Mickey’s hand is already at the top of Ian’s shirt, tugging at his collar. 

But Ian puts his hand over Mickey’s to stop him from undoing the button. “I don’t think that would be fair to the rest of the Gallaghers.” He flashes his devilish green eyes at Mickey. 

“Well, ‘spose I already paid them fifty bucks to get lost for the evening?” Mickey moves his free hand over to the top of Ian’s thigh and makes slow deliberate circles with his finger tips. “Wanna go upstairs?”

“I don’t know, _babe_. I mean, I’d have to put this dip away, you know, since you're not going to eat it. And then there’s the pizza. We don’t want it getting cold. And Al Pacino. I was really looking forward to that—”

“Okay, fine!” Mickey huffs, clearly getting flustered by Ian playing hard to get. “What if I, uh, let you get a confession out of me? You know, make me talk? I think you might have been onto something earlier. With that whole dip thing.”

“Yeah?” Ian asks, stroking the back of Mickey’s hand, then tilting his mouth low enough to give him little kitten-licks with his tongue.

“Yeah……” sighs the brunet, eyes rolling in the back of his head as Ian moves Mickey’s hand from his thigh directly over his semi-erect cock.

“But no kissing,” Ian cautions him, leaning his head back and moaning softly at the sensation of Mickey’s warm hand on him. "Remember your rules?"

Mickey closes his eyes and groans. “Okay! I confess! I confess!” He opens his eyes to his husband, beaming back at him. Eyes full of love.

Of course, Ian doesn’t really need his confession. He knows what he knows. And so does Mickey, and who really cares who started things between them? All that matters is they ended up together, and they are going to have years of fucking domestic bliss.

But let the record show, it was _so_ Mickey who pursued Ian first.


End file.
